


Breathe

by Pherodoe



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Returns, Depression, Gen, Leo Fitz Feels, Leo Fitz-centric, Mental Disintegration, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-21 20:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2481062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pherodoe/pseuds/Pherodoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz is coming to terms with hypoxia and has left the Bus. In an attempt to regain his value, he bumps into another victim of the fallout from HYDRA's uprising. That's putting it lightly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've been a consumer of fanfiction for quite a while now and wanted to give back what I could. I suffer from major Fitz-feels and decided to see where that would take me. Although a long-time lurker, I'm pretty new to AO3 so any tips on tagging etc. would be very much appreciated!

\---  
  
Disorientation. Confusion. Sad faces with false smiles. Fitz couldn't stand it. He slept.  
  
\---  
  
Why are they here? Who are they?

A creaking ache had set in as he tried to assess his surroundings.

How long has he been here? Why was he here? Where is here.

The checklist. There was a checklist for this. He learnt it at the S.H.I.E.L.D Academy in a basic med class, all common sense really but it made for in easy grade outside of his usual field. They had to check for… something. Not a pulse, he obviously had one of those. What was it? Other than the ache in his joints, no sign of heavy bodily damage. Okay, take a breath.

~~

“Breathe Fitz! Damn it Fitz, why won’t you just breathe! Please. Please Fitz.”  
  
“Breathe."

~~  
  
Gasping for air. Fitz couldn’t find the memory but it came to him like a disturbed dream and drifted away just as quickly. There had been an accident. An accident? No. A betrayal. Everything had gone to shit.  
  
Simmons. She had to be okay, somehow her curiosity never got the better of her. Whenever there was trouble Simmons would always land on her feet. Fitz on the other hand…  
  
That must be it, after years of sticking to labs and trying to stay out of trouble he’s still managed to get his legs blown off during his short time in the field. It seemed acceptable, about time his luck had run out. With the intention of pulling back the covers to reveal his fate, Fitz finally sat up.  
  
This was bad. Really bad. Before Fitz could even reach down toward his supposed missing legs the illuminated wall in front of him caught him in its gaze. He found himself reflected back. Not his face, but the part that was the key to his entire being. Each x-ray expertly pinned, his perfect weakness on display for all.  
  
His impeccable brain. Corrupted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was almost an exercise in stream of consciousness. I wanted to get some series-setting done and I suspect that any further chapters will have more of an interaction focus.  
> Feedback welcome x

At first the peace was welcome. After months of playing cat and mouse with bad guys, an early retirement didn’t seem like a bad idea. Coulson said that he had a place on the team but Fitz couldn’t take their pitying smiles. A constant reminder of the deceit they had all fallen for. Sometimes he wished he could have died a hero rather than continue as damaged goods.

Once the dust had settled, Coulson agreed to drop Fitz off at one of the few remaining safehouses. Well, not so much a house as an apartment that would have been used for deep cover had the time come. With the structure of S.H.I.E.L.D in complete disarray it was difficult to imagine such a place could be used for its original intention ever again.

\--

After a few days of getting into some rather heated arguments with his TV (thanks to MythBusters and a variety of Sci-Fi shows), Fitz began to wonder if this had been a huge mistake. There was always a project, a mission of some kind to keep the days interesting. Now he could quite happily stare out of the window and simply flow out of himself. He knew this wasn’t healthy, especially as he was avoiding communication with anyone on a day to day basis. Simply trying to buy some milk without using the word ‘milk’ was enough to send him in a downward spin for the rest of the day. Knowing what you want to say but being utterly incapable of vocalising it was both fascinating and terrifying.

Fitz had already read up on all there was to know about cerebral hypoxia. When he first woke up in a S.H.I.E.L.D med-lab and saw the particular attention that had been spent on getting images of the Broca’s and Wernicke’s areas of the brain, there was no denying what had happened. The memories still came in bits and pieces, usually between the last sleep cycle and full wakefulness. A horrible start to the day but at least he could _remember._ Fitz was told to have hope, progression would be slow but there was always hope.  
On the days he cut himself shaving, Fitz wasn’t sure why he bothered to even make himself presentable.

\--

They were trying to get the Bus equipped with stealth technology. Maybe if Fitz could come up with a solution he could go back to Coulson, cap in hand, and bargain his way back on. It was a long shot but there was no way he’d be returning empty handed. The main issue was where to start. The apartment was equipped with all the mod cons but lacked the scientific equipment that was essential to his work. Even some low-security data relating to cloaking devices would be useful at this point, a springboard of sorts. That’s when Fitz had one of his dumb-smart ideas, or maybe a smart-dumb idea, it was difficult to tell the difference but they usually worked out.

\--

As Fitz was walking across town he was making a mental shopping list of everything he was going to try and find in the lab. With a bit of luck, neither HYDRA nor S.H.I.E.L.D would have bothered with the place in the fallout. He worked there on and off during his time studying as an intern, they didn’t cover anything especially top secret but it did give him the confidence to get stuck in as a field agent- primarily to gather better data than the clowns he had to rely on.

Equipped only with an I.C.E.R and an empty holdall, Fitz was going to try his best to pull a one man smash and grab. An especially nerdy smash and grab. His keycard access was never revoked so entering what seemed to be the back entrance to a warehouse building was simple enough. Not wanting to risk taking the lift, Fitz steadily began his way down the stairs, several floors below ground level.

Finally, the main entrance to the lab could be seen. With the holdall awkwardly strapped to his back and the I.C.E.R held close to his chest, Fitz shouldered the white firedoor open.

Bare. The whole damn place had been stripped down. Row after row of work stations with little but scattered papers and pens. Fitz brought his palm to his forehead and held it there, pushing, trying to think. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, Coulson had been so adamant that they figure out who they could trust and now he had further visual proof of how fucked everything was. It wasn’t that the scientists had defected to HYDRA, no, that would have been understandable given the circumstances. Everyone here would have lined their pockets from the sale of this stuff and fled. Some of the brightest engineers Fitz had known used to work here and all had fled like cowards.  
Was he any better? Isn’t that what he’d done by leaving the Bus? Who was he kidding trying to redeem himself.

Fitz continued to grind his palm against temple, the other hanging limply with the I.C.E.R. He continued to wander past each work station, maybe there was still something in the lab that could be of use. Where was the data stored? Would that be enough to make this trip worth it? He stepped forward, each footfall heavier than the last until finally he came to a stop. Finally he gave in and slumped against a desk, slowly making his descent while clumsily removing the holdall from his shoulders.  He held it to his chest, back against the draws, and sunk deeper into himself.

\--

Self-pity wasn’t an attractive trait and Fitz knew it. Wallowing in one’s own misfortunate is far easier than resolving the issue but it doesn’t get you anywhere. After a few rounds of breathing exercises, Fitz picked up the courage to call it a day and head home. Perhaps figure out a plan B before the next rerun of Stargate was on.

Footsteps. Was he imagining them? No, Fitz wasn’t alone.

They were difficult to pinpoint. If he could just get to the door then maybe he could make it up the stairs to safety. Which way to go? There was no choice, a quick peek above the desk was needed to figure out his next move.

Slowly, Fitz turned around so that he was kneeling and facing the desk. Eventually he rose up to one foot, then the other to allow his eye line to reach just above it so he could scan the area. Sadly his view was obstructed, it took half a second to realise the figure standing in front of him was the source of the footsteps. How could they have gotten so close? In a flash Fitz was grabbed be his collar and yanked upwards and over the desk. Now he was level with wild eyes and equally wild hair.  
Shit, getting captured by HYDRA was not a part of the plan  
The eyes glanced down, Fitz was still holding the I.C.E.R. He fumbled to get a grip and bring it up as a last (and only) act of defiance. Faster than he could compute, Fitz was dropped atop the desk and his hand was enveloped by the one previously at his collar.

In his last moments of consciousness, Fitz realised that the weapon being held by his attacker was not simply an imposing firearm but an entire appendage masquerading as such. The flesh equivalent had twisted his hand painfully and aimed the I.C.E.R at his gut, using his own traitorous fingers to dispense a round.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have a vague plan for this story but I've been quite distracted. As a thank you to all the kudos and bookmarks I've decided to give it another go ^_^ Apologies for any obvious mistakes, I'm not checking these with anyone so do let me know if you spot anything x

“You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”

Well that was a new one. Fitz was used to waking up to the sounds of rushing water and medical equipment, not sassy Americans. What was his subconscious trying to convey with that statement?

“If you were actually armed, we wouldn’t be having this conversation."

“S’ardly a conver—sation” Fitz slurred. He felt like he’d fallen out of bed again. He went to rub his eyes but only managed a peculiar wriggle, the results of having one’s hands zip-tied together while propped up in a chair it seemed.

“Oh dear”

“Oh dear indeed”

Sassy American was not a subconscious manifestation. Sassy American was a scruffy man with imposing forearms, one of which was sheathed in some kind of weaponised gauntlet. Sassy American was oddly familiar…

“Y—you’re from the news. You fought the, the. You… you fought the… the Captain.”

The man shifted slightly where he stood before promptly setting his stance and maintaining eye contact.

“You’re...” Fitz almost whispered. “You’re HYDRA.” A shiver ran up his spine and his gut clenched like it had taken a swift kick. This was bad. Nobody knew where he was. No backup, not even The Cavalry. Maybe the building was being monitored by S.H.I.E.L.D? If he could convince tall, dark and fearsome here to leave the building with him, maybe he had a chance. If only he had something to bargain with, what could he say? This was not Fitz’s area of expertise. Who was he kidding? Even if he managed it there was no guarantee anyone would come to his rescue. This place held no value compared to the other labs, so what if people decided to snoop around? Fitz was never going to leave this building in one piece. It would be a good day if he wasn’t tortured for information first. Nobody would hear his screams. Nobody would be…

CRACK

Fitz was seeing stars. An unexpected backhand to the face will do that to you.

“You’re hyperventilating. Stop it.”

“S-stop wha?”

The hand not clad in metal raised again and Fitz flinched.

“Okay okay! Just, please, please be quick. I don’t have information. Please just get it over with. Please.”

The hand lowered and the man attached to it sighed through his nose.

“I’m not going to do anything to you kid. You’re not a threat but I do need you to calm down.”

Fitz was holding back tears at this point but he put all his energy in trying to be still and control his breathing. ‘Calm’ was not on the cards right now.

“That’s better I suppose. I need you to pay attention. Kid, kid look at me. I need you to fix my arm. Can you do that?”

“It’s not my area. Jemma, she was the biologist. I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me.”

His captor lifted his right hand to the bridge of his nose and pinched in exasperation.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, look.”

The hand moved across his shirt and pulled the sleeve up and away from his left shoulder. Angry flesh was knitted with metal, certainly not a labour of love.

“I know how to maintain it but it’s broken. I need someone to fix it. What’s your name kid?”

“My name?” Was now the time to lie? Probably not worth the risk. “It’s Fitz. Err, Leo Fitz.”

“Good answer. That’s what it says on here” The man picked up his keycard from the desk and waved it at him.  
“Now Fitz, can you help me?”

“I-I don’t know… I don’t have my tools. Some of it looks… familiar. I might be able to…” Fitz shook his head. “You’re HYDRA. I c-c-can’t”

“I’m not HYDRA Fitz.”

“Then what? What are you?

He seemed to think hard on that.

“I’m James.”

It took Fitz a few moments to realise that wasn’t an acronym for some S.H.I.E.L.D/ HYDRA/ government branch. Did he really just say his name?

“Look, I’m going to cut the tie now. If you try anything I will have to hurt you. I’ve got my own tools but I can’t find the problem. I need a new set of eyes on this and-“ he waved the card again “a technical junior lab-assistant is my best bet right now.”

“I’m not a lab assistant anymore. I have—I had my own lab.”

“Even better. Is that a yes?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sat on this chapter for longer than I'm willing to admit.

To begin with, Fitz dared not touch anything. With the panel exposing the limb’s inner workings it became obvious that this had been a long running project. The bulk of the tech was very recent or beyond his immediate understanding. The oddity was the spattering of old parts integrating with the new. How long had this arm been attached? It didn’t make sense. Some of these connections looked almost wartime era, maybe even Soviet. Maybe that accounted for the red star.

“I think I’ve figured out the problem.”

His captor-turned-patient seemed to perk up at that. From staring stoically ahead he turned to look at Fitz and raised an eyebrow.

“Umm…a phrase comes to mind. Too many cooks spoil the…err… spoil the…” Fitz clicked his fingers

“Broth?”

“Right, broth. There’s a few conflicting developments and inconsistent joins. This one here-“ Fitz shakily pointed to one of the oldest parts near what seemed to be a computer processor “-it’s an old style of actuator that was phased out years ago. Very reliable stuff but it looks like someone else wasn’t familiar with it when they made these other changes.

“These bolt nuts were put on too loosely the last time alterations were made. This style, although bulky, is much sturdier than some modern equivalents but needs to be fully secured to prevent vibrations. As a result, it’s triggered a failsafe to prevent the bolt from falling out completely and damaging the arm beyond repair. You know usually-“

“I got it. Thanks”

“Right, rambling. You just need to tighten these up and reset the system, then you’re good to go.” Fitz nervously clutched his hands to his chest and tried to find something else to focus his attention. James had the unnerving habit of staring him down during each interaction, it was like trying to have polite conversation with RoboCop.

“This is the one you need.” James held up a tiny electric socket wrench. In response, Fitz held up his still trembling hands.

“Yeah… no.”

“Suit yourself.”

James quickly and efficiently tightened the offending bolts. As soon as the system rebooted, the plates that had parted slid back into place. A methodical flutter of movements ran up and down the full length of his arm. As the ripple finally stilled at the bicep, Fitz thought it looked like feathers shaking out dust after a long period of disuse. It took a few moments for him to notice the hissing of breath between James’ teeth.

“Shit, are you okay?” As Fitz reached out to inspect the arm it met him halfway and ruthlessly grabbed him at the wrist.

“I’m fine. Been a while since I’ve had any sensation through it. Takes some getting used to.”

“Funnily enough, I’m started to loose sensation.” James dropped his wrist unceremoniously and received a glare from Fitz as he rubbed at the marks already forming there. “I’ve done what you asked, can I go now?”

James was flexing his metallic fingers one at a time.

“Sure.”

“Really?” Fitz was expecting…well, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting but it wasn’t that.

“I need to set up a temporary base of operations. Do you live alone?”

There was the catch. A pretty big catch at that. Fitz hadn’t thought any further ahead than getting out of the lab. Having anything more to do with… a fugitive? The enemy? Some deranged man with serious arm-wrestling advantage? – hadn’t even come to mind.

“Do you trust me Fitz?”

“Not particularly.”

“Good. I doubt I can trust you either so I’ll be honest, you don’t have a say in the matter. Until I’ve sorted out my next steps, we’re sticking together.”

Fitz sighed and crossed his arms in a huff. “Whatever.”

James smirked. “Don’t give me attitude kid or I won’t lend you my helmet and you’ll be eating bugs all the way.”

\--

After a somewhat harrowing motorcycle ride, the pair made it back to the S.H.I.E.L.D safehouse. Fitz hadn’t realised how physically and mentally exhausted he was until his knees almost gave way dismounting. A headache was starting to kick in and he wished this day would just be over. Maybe he was in a coma all along and none of this was real. Wishful thinking.

“Lead the way.”

It took a few attempts for Fitz to get the various locks to turn. The lock plate on the apartment door was already scuffed from his previous clumsy efforts. Once they were inside, Fitz let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“What happened to you Fitz?”

“Oh I don’t know, some crazy guy with a metal arm knocked me out and then forced me to take him home like some manic stray… stray...” Fitz tapped his fingertips against his temple.

“Dog?”

“No no no, the other one stray… stray…”

“C—“

“Cat! Stray cat.”

“I’m not a fool Fitz. Tell me what happened.”

Fitz rolled his eyes. It was bad enough having to talk to med staff about this, why did this guy want to know? He slumped into the sofa and pulled his cardigan closer. As the silence grew, Fitz couldn’t help but feel he had to fill it.

“I got dicked over by an undercover HYDRA member on our team, alright?”

“Keep going.” James growled.

“Christ, fine. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“My what?”

“Nevermind. Look, we were all trying to get our heads around the return of HYDRA…”

Fitz gave the bare minimum of the story, all locations and names glossed over of course. When it came to explaining the symptoms of his hypoxia, James visibly flinched. There was some kind of understanding present, he was obviously affected by Fitz’s words but maybe it ran deeper? If someone could attach James’ mechanical arm as brutally as it appeared, then no doubt there were other horrors he was not aware of.

As he finished, Fitz felt his throat rasp and his headache dial up to eleven.

“You should sleep.”

Fitz raised his hands, “You know what? I’m not even going to argue. Try not to slit my throat and don’t drink all my beer.”

“How about we aim for one out of two?”

He shuffled into the bedroom without bothering to look at James and muttered half-formed obscenities under his breath.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So I'm keeping this fic Teen and platonic BUT I still have every intention of following up with an alternate set of events that will be anything but that ;) It will be treated as the 2nd part of a series but will split from this story and possibly join back up the end.  
> I think there's another 2 chapters left as this was never going to be an epic but more of an exploration into the similarities of two characters that wouldn't otherwise meet.*  
> Everything is terribly un beta'd as per usual x
> 
> *I hope I'm wrong.

There was no way to tell up from down without breathing out. Bubbles ascended so Fitz followed. Another cough as he tried to keep in the stale lungful of air reveals he’d been turned around, aggressively swimming into the depths. Fitz didn’t feel wet but clammy and chill. There was little resistance in the water which resulted in barely any movement from his flailing. The water wasn’t murky but he could see no further than his reach. A shadow was nearing, filling his vision. From that shadow, a hand darted out and grasped his shoulder with an unnatural grip. There was no way of knowing if he was about to be pulled from the depths or pushed further down.

\--

“Kid, wake-up.”

Fitz started with an ungraceful snort.

“Y’had me worried there. Looked like you were having a seizure and I don’t have the time to deal with disposing a body right now.”

Still in a haze, Fitz wondered why he’d let some homeless guy into his apartment last night. Had he even been drinking?

“Where do you keep your towels?”

James gradually eased off Fitz’s shoulder where he had been shaken awake.

“There’s um – the bed, has drawers. Under the bed.”

“Thanks kid, promise not to use up all the hot water. Maybe.”

Fitz had eased his legs over the side of the bed. Elbows on thighs, heels of palms digging into his eye sockets until he saw sparks.

“I-It’s a combi-boiler.” Fitz muttered. “Don’t worry about it.”

James had already moved to the bathroom, spray hitting the cheap plastic bath.

There was no reason to run just yet, who would he even run to? James must have already figured that one out else he wouldn’t have been left on his own. Perhaps some strong coffee would kick a few synapses into action.

Fitz shuffled in his boxers and t-shirt to the kitchen and put on a pot for two. It wasn’t until he went to get two mugs that he realised he’d been treating this stray as a guest. He put his thumb and forefinger to his brow.

“Dammit Fitz, what are you thinking?” – chastising himself out loud.

There was nothing to do other than become hypnotised us the muddy liquid slowly dripped into the pot below. He should be coming up with a plan but Fitz didn’t want to think about anything right now, just breath in the smell of coffee.

“They don’t make it like they used to.” James remarked as he strode into the kitchen, wiping a cut throat razor against his newly acquired towel.

“Can’t you put a bell on or something?” queried Fitz, visibly startled as his coffee hypnosis was disturbed.

“You’re… different.”

James was now cleanly shaven and looking almost like a regular person if it weren’t for the racoon-like darkness surrounding his eyes. Well, and the metal arm. Had he even slept last night? The couch could have been an option but there were no signs that it had been slept on. The way James’ hair was slicked back with water implied that perhaps some of that had been chopped off too.

“I hope you don’t say that to dames. Believe me, wouldn’t go down well. You look like shit by the way.”

Fitz rolled his eyes at the sassy assassin. Assassyin?

“Well trying to sleep while there’s a guy who tried to kill you-“

“Ah, well technically-“ James interjected

“Don’t you ‘well technically’ me! If I was carrying a dangerous weapon I’d be dead right now. I don’t know what possessed me to agree to all this and I certainly don’t know why I made you coffee.”

Fitz thrust a mug at James and headed to the bathroom.

\--

“Well, you tried kid but I’m not sure that fluff is doing you any favors.”

Fitz was drying his face with a towel and wearing a fresh pair of boxers and t-shirt.

“You can borrow my razor.”

“Yep. Nope. Don’t feel like slitting my throat today.”

Now it was James’ turn to roll his eyes.

“’cos of the shakes right? Fine, I’ll sort you out.”

Fitz found himself being herded backwards.

“Y-you don’t have to. Seriously, we’re good, alright?”

James merely huffed at him and put the toilet lid down, motioning Fitz to take a seat. Trapped between it and a man wielding a sharp blade, Fitz sat down. James paused a moment.

“I used to do this for a friend.” He twirled the blade around his fingers.

“Does your friend have a fully intact carotid artery?” Fitz quipped.

Possibly too much banter. Something dark flashed behind his quasi-captors eyes as the blade came to a sudden stop.

“Yes.” James said bluntly as he cast his eyes away and reached for the shaving foam. The bath creaked a little as he perched on it and leant toward Fitz.

“Don’t move too much, my earlier statement still stands.”

\--

“There, you’re good to go.”

James leant back and carefully cleaned the razor. Fitz couldn’t help but notice the satisfaction he obviously found in his own handiwork. Not so much a smile but a hint of serenity touched James’ face. Fitz couldn’t help but see the stark contrast between his current expression and usual grimace/smirk combo.

“So who’s the lucky lady?”

 “Ah, no –I don’t. She really wouldn’t… not me, like this.”

James raised an eyebrow

“I’m different now. She wouldn’t-“ Fitz sighed “-She doesn’t understand”

Why a free shave suddenly had him spilling his guts, Fitz wasn’t sure. At least it was figurative and not metaphorical.

“Jemma, we worked together. She wants me to be like before but… I’ve changed. I couldn’t look into her eyes. Anyone’s eyes. That’s why I’m here and not on the Bu—there. Does that even make sense?”

His attentive barber was somewhat stony-faced. Fitz felt like he’d perhaps put his foot in it.

“Believe me kid, I understand more than you know.”

Fitz was midway through excusing himself from the temporary salon when the doorbell rang.


	6. Chapter 6

“Oh no. This is bad. This is very bad.”

“Kid, who is that?”

“Shhh! Get your stuff, hide in the bedroom.”

“I don’t hide. Who IS that?”

“Okay! Okay.” Fitz conceded, mainly to shut up the stubborn fugitive assassin who most certainly should not be in his apartment right now. “It’s Co-- my old boss. He checks in from time to time. I lost track of the days and-“

“And now I have a high ranking S.H.I.E.L.D agent to deal with.” James interrupted, adjusting his grip on the razor to something much more menacing.

The doorbell rang again.

“I-I’m coming! Just a second!” Fitz stalled “No. You are not going to ‘deal’ with anyone. I’ll make him go away, just stay in here and I’ll handle it.” There wasn’t much else to say as he waited for some kind of acknowledgement from James. In a fluid motion the cut throat blade was folded and pocketed.

“Okay” Fitz breathed “You can do this”

\--

“Coulson! Hi, how’s the not-so-secret agency business going?”

Phil gave a bland smile. Fitz had a sneaking suspicion that he could read his mind.

“Much the same Fitz. Taking down bad guys, keeping tabs on Hydra, the usual. I trust you’re doing well?”

It took Fitz a moment to answer as he willed his face into something that didn’t look like a child caught with their hand stuck in a cookie jar.

“Oh... you know. I manage. Good to have a bit R&R. Been catching up on some er… some…

Phil’s smile was eating into his soul. He gulped.

“Some journals.”

“Huh. So you’ve not been keeping an eye on our intel?”

Fitz felt relief that he could shake his head with a clean conscience. He’d actively been avoiding the drama from the last few weeks in an attempt to block out the series of events that led him to leaving the Bus in the first place.

“I only mention it because a nearby lab was accessed yesterday with your keycard.”

Phil’s raised eyebrow invited a response but he blocked it before Fitz could even think to begin one.

“Don’t worry Fitz, that’s not what I’m here for. I thought I’d bring you a basic debrief pack.”

Phil held out a manila envelope without the usual ‘CLASSIFIED’ stamps all over it. Fitz doubted this information had been cleared for his eyes.

“Just in case.”

Fitz had to hand it to him, Phil sure knew how to come across as foreboding in just about any situation.

“Er… thanks. I guess I’ll take a look; no harm in catching up.”

Phil still had a grip on the files as Fitz began to take them.

“You know there’s always a place for you on the team. We’d be happy to have you back.”

Fitz grimaced “I know. I just need more…time? Y’know? To think about… things.” Whenever Phil brought this up he felt like he was turning down dinner with his doting grandparents. He felt the full weight of the envelope as Phil relinquished his grip.

“Of course. Well, I don’t want to keep your guest waiting.”

What.

“What?”

Fitz almost dropped the envelope. His hand was stuck firmly in that cookie jar.

“You’ve got two coffee cups out. I didn’t mean anything by it but I’m happy to know you’re not cooped up here on your own all the time.”

The sound that came out of Fitz was an affirmative squeak. He was mentally kicking himself for not hiding James’ tracks before answering the door. With that in mind, his clean shaven yet unmarked face may as well have been marked ‘EXIBIT A’ in bright red marker.

Somehow Fitz found his voice again.

“Right. Yes. Well. Give the team my regards.”

“Of course Fitz.”

\--

As James sauntered into the living-space, Fitz was still clutching the envelope with his back flush against the front door.

“Nice one kid.”

Fitz was clumsily opening the envelope as James helped himself to another serving of coffee.

“I really thought I was going to have to step in.”

As Fitz skimmed through the pages, the intel on Hydra’s assassin couldn’t be missed. The photo of James was intimidating to say the least. Although it was in black and white, the unmistakable glisten of blood could be seen trickling from his left hand.

NAME: JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

“I suppose it’s a good job I didn’t. Don’t need that level of heat right now.”

KNOWN ALIAS(ES):

THE WINTER SOLDIER

“If S.H.I.E.L.D don’t suspect I’m here then I should be able to make a plan of action over the next day or so.”

THE ASSET

“So don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”

BUCKY BARNES

“Hey, do you want a refill?”

AFFILIATION(S):

HYRDA (FORMER)

“Kid, are you even listening to me?”

UNITED STATES ARMY (FORMER)

“What are you reading?”

HOWLING COMMANDOS (FORMER)

James snatched the files.

“You’re him. You’re Bucky Barnes.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost a full year since the last update! Crumbs... sorry about that. Here's an interlude chapter I wrote this morning which I'll follow up IMMEDIATELY with the last. x

At the academy, Fitz had little interest in subjects outside his field of study. There were a handful of history based electives that seemed to exist solely to beat the drum of S.H.I.E.L.D and their grating 'holier than thou' view on world politics. Jemma did an excellent job at filling him in on the basics anyway. When a lecturer made a casual quip about previous director so-and-so, she would give him a brief run down as to why everyone else in the hall found such humor in his words. It wasn't until one of the mandatory classes had a guest speaker that Fitz finally lifted his head up and out of the clouds.

As they filed into the hall, Jemma was adamant they sit as close as possible to the front. Fitz performed his usual sigh and roll of the eyes as she pinched him by the cuff of his cardigan and dragged him forward. He had full intentions to write up some findings from his most recent experiments and was about to start typing away as an audible hush settled across the crowd. It certainly was a crowd, there were people sitting on stairs and standing at the back of the hall who surely weren't meant to be present. It seemed that the whole academy had turned up for this particular speaker.

Fitz's attention snapped back to the stage as a regular * clip * clip * clip * could be heard crossing it. An older woman approached the dais in an impeccable fitted dress and matching red jacket. Her eyes were both wise and tender whereas her rouge-painted lips were set into an authoritative smile. Peggy Carter knew how to gather attention.

As she spoke, Fitz forgot all about his research and became enraptured by the the words of which she spoke. Both glory and failure wrapped into one, she spoke frankly and without hesitation when it came to personal experiences in the field. A welcome change to the sanguine teachings he had become deaf to. Carter spoke with great sadness as she detailed the untimely demise of Captain America and his loyal companion, Bucky Barnes. It was a story he was familiar with but had always seemed so matter of fact it the past. Fitz let out a small sigh of relief knowing that when he and Jemma graduated, they'd be far behind the front lines.

Finally, Carter's voice began to crack and Fitz realised he'd been sat impossibly still for almost two hours as he absorbed and filed away bits of information. As she wrapped up with some well rehearsed speech about how the students should continue to strive hard to achieve, Fitz simply sat in introspection and for the first time – really thought about the path that stretched ahead of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell that I REALLY LIKE Peggy Carter?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My final installment! It only took 2 years...  
> WATCH THIS SPACE - I still have a few extra chapters in mind for if things took an R-rated turn ;) This will likely be in a separate fic in a joined up series so that the tags don't get super confusing.  
> Anywho, hope you enjoyed my Fitz-feels as much as I did writing them x

Both silence and time strained between them. Synapses were firing haphazardly in Fitz's brain as he tried to get his head around this new data and the impact it would have on the immediate situation. He felt as though he were trapped in a room with a dog without a tail. He couldn't read James' face, Bucky's face, and felt adrenaline spiking as a result. Fitz still had his hand out which was abruptly filled with a mug. Before he had time to react he was manhandled to one side as James flung open the apartment door and bolted through it, files in hand.

As Fitz tried to rationalise the situation (shouldn't he be the one fleeing?) his physical senses came back to him. The handle of the mug was pointed away from him and his hand was only loosely wrapped around the body. Scalding heat shocked him back into reality and time resumed its usual pace. Fitz dropped the mug and its contents. It broke on against the floor with impressive impact, spraying his bare legs and causing him to jump back.

“Shit.”

Fitz gently closed the door and got to work cleaning up the mess.

–-

An hour later and still no sign of James. Fitz munched on a bland piece of toast and considered his options. All of the ex-assassin's/ former soldier's belongings remained, including the keys to a rather hefty motorcycle that was still stashed in the alleyway. He'd probably be back for it but should Fitz be there when James decided to make an appearance? He was unsure. Ultimately, the knowledge (which was frustratingly limited as he barely had a glance at the confidential documents) that James was a former Howling Commando was fascinating and puzzling – but not inherently concerning.

Once he got his head around the possibility that the great Steve Rodgers might not be the only young granddad about town, a lot of James' behaviors and offhand comments started to make sense. He'd obviously been through hell and was barely coping. The fact that an entire dossier just turned up on his doorstep (well, Fitz's doorstep) must have been quite the shock, especially to someone who didn't want to be found.

As Fitz pottered about, unsure what to do, he suddenly found himself in dire need of fresh air. After a hasty attempt at getting fully dressed (it took a while to get the laces right, he was determined that he wasn't going to give into velcro just yet), Fitz set off in search of a good brunch and some beers to restock the fridge.

–-

Fitz had stayed out longer than intended. Once he'd grabbed a sandwich and found a spot to sit in a quiet park, he let peacefulness and serenity wash over him. As he took the first bite into it, the knot between his brows relaxed a little and he began to thoroughly enjoy his piece of prosciutto and mozzarella heaven. After licking off the remaining pesto aioli from his fingers, he closed his eyes and listened to birdsong.

–-

The light had changed when he opened them again. It was subtle but he'd somehow let time slip to mid-afternoon. With a stiff back, Fitz stood and headed back to the apartment. The corner shop was poorly stocked as usual but as he was only after some cheap beer so it wasn't much of an issue. The shopkeeper was always more interested in his paper than serving customers, which suited Fitz just fine.

As he made it through his front door, Fitz noticed that there had definitely been someone rummaging around in his absence. Another pot of coffee had been made and some of James' kit had been moved about. The keys were still on the side and the bulk of the tactical gear was where it had been left. It was only when he went to check on his laptop to see what threat level the world was at on this fine day, that he realised it was missing. He double checked each room and each possible storage spot but it was definitely missing. If James had stolen it, albeit temporarily, Fitz was going to have some choice words with him. He'd had enough of his sulking and wanted answers.

The laptop was remotely and securely tethered to his mobile. It would show with pinpoint accuracy where to find its counterpart. Fitz stared at the two blips, almost right on top of each other. That made no sense. If James had somehow disabled the functionality then the laptop shouldn't be appearing at all. Fitz looked up and down for any sign of the laptop. Still nothing. Eventually he shook his head and exhaled a soft “duh” before bringing two fingers to the screen and rotating the map. Now with a side-on view of the building, Fitz could clearly see the blip of the laptop three floors up. Grabbing a jacket and the beers, Fitz ascended the stairs to the rooftop.

–-

James was sat with his back to an air duct just out of view from the fire door. Fitz didn't need to search for him, the spot was familiar as the low rumble of the unit had soothed him on sleepless nights. His instinct was to approach quietly, so as not to disturb. This was then overridden with logic; probably best not to have an assassin think you're trying to sneak up on them.

Fitz scuffed his feet on purpose and cleared his throat as he rounded the corner. James looked up at him with tired eyes.

“Whaddya want kid?”

A fair question, thought Fitz. He tried to come up with a thoughtful answer and instead went with a simple statement.

“I brought beer.”

James softened at that and held out his hand. Fitz cautiously plucked a bottle out of the small crate as he set it down. Having handed it over he realised he left something in the kitchen.

“Oh, I need to go and get the bottle ope-”

_POP_

“Or that.”

James gave Fitz one of his usual smirks, his metal digits in a thumbs up position as a result of flicking the top off by hand.

“Pass me another.” James mumbled gruffly as he nodded at the crate. Fitz did as he was told and was given the open beer as payment.

_POP_

James took a deep swig and set it down. He furrowed his brow as he tongued the flavour in his mouth.

“Different.”

“Ah, yeah. It's an APA so it's pretty hoppy.” Fitz pulled his cardigan close. “I prefer darker ales but they don't seem to be so popular here.”

“Eh, sure I'll get used to it.” James took another hearty swig as Fitz moved to sit down.

They finished their first beer in relative silence. James seemingly taking his time and Fitz taking nervous gulps. As he was polishing off the last swig, James handed him another prepared bottle and placed the empty back in the crate.

“I borrowed your laptop.” James stated. “I'm done with it now, you can have it back.”

Fitz suddenly remembered the irritation he had felt, like having a house guest outstaying their welcome. Just because he remembered it didn't mean he still felt it.

“It's no bother.” he sighed “Get what you need?”

“I think so.”

Fitz began worrying the edges of the foil label.

“Cool. Well, you could have asked...” Okay, maybe he was still a little irritated.

“Here, this is also yours I guess.”

James produced the classified documents from earlier. Fitz instinctively held out his free hand, only to pause.

“I think... I think I'd rather hear it from you.”

James raised his eyebrows and met Fitz's gaze. He slowly leaned back again and took a deep glug of the beer. He still wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

Much in the same way that Fitz retold the basics, James conveyed a simple and to the point summary of how he got from A to B and the mess between. When he mentioned Peggy, Fitz spoke up about her staggering presence at the academy. James chuckled, “she was quite the dame”.

The afternoon became evening and evening became night. Fitz bought pizza, some more beer and brought up some blankets. It seemed like the appropriate thing to do. They spoke casually but often didn't speak at all. Fitz listened to street traffic the same way he listened to birdsong. He was tipsy and his feet were cold, but otherwise feeling oddly at ease on the chilly rooftop. He didn't remember drifting off, only the sound of his empty bottle rolling away from his lax hand.

–-

Fitz didn't wake up with a start. He didn't wake up to the sound of rushing water. He didn't wake up with sudden and intense vertigo. Instead, Fitz woke up with a slight headache as he hadn't been drinking as much water as he should have been the night before.

He squinted at the room around him. Did he walk down the stairs? He didn't remember walking down the stairs. Did he even stand up?

Fitz was overly warm. Fully clothed, other than the shoes at the foot of his bed, smelling slightly of stale beer – he definitely needed a shower. He sat up with a groan and flung his legs over the side of the bed. Once the room stopped spinning, he ambled into the living-space.

The sight was (quite literally) sobering. There was no sign of James. No sign of Bucky Barnes or even the Winter Soldier. Just some neatly stacked pizza boxes and two crates of empties.

Ultimately, Fitz wasn't surprised. James had admitted to getting what he needed and he didn't seem the sort to hang around for longer than necessary. He was sad but... happy that James found the means to move on.

He was about to make himself a pot of coffee before eyeing the small slip of paper neatly tucked under it.

_'It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.'_

Had anyone else left him a quote by Confucius, Fitz might feel insulted. In this instance, however, Fitz carefully folded the scrap of paper before tucking it into his wallet.

–-

Life back on the Bus wasn't so bad. The pitying looks were still there but he didn't realise just how much he missed the genuine smiles of his friends and regular social interaction. Having his hands on technology more advanced than an overly complicated television remote was a fantastic relief as well. There were good days and bad days. Days where he felt so much stronger than the day before and days where he felt stagnant. On the latter, he would find a quiet place (usually with the hum of computers) and quietly repeat his mantra.

_“Do not stop. Breathe, and. Do. Not. Stop.”_


End file.
